


Fights To Fantasies

by oldtimeyryan



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Sherlock really has emotions I swear, Verbal Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 01:09:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldtimeyryan/pseuds/oldtimeyryan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’ve never had friends, so why would you have one now?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fights To Fantasies

**Author's Note:**

> beta: rosa
> 
> This was written for my friend Erika from a roleplay we did last year. Basically it started as a crack roleplay but it got really serious and then this was the result.
> 
> Thank you again to Rosa for being a beautiful beta and ridding my writing of mistakes. I owe you so much, love.
> 
> And the Pablo Sarasate is my favourite classical piece I've heard in a while. I recommend it.

“John.” One word, a common name, spoken with so much force one would think Sherlock Holmes’ heart was in some kind of stranglehold. This argument had been worse than the others in many ways, and it made Sherlock’s head hurt. John was perfectly furious, his face tight and his eyes dark. His lips were drawn into a tight line and his arms were crossed. _Defensive. Hurt._

“What now, Sherlock?” Even his voice was cold and tight. “Do you want to tell me again how meaningless I am to you? Or how much more important the work is than caring about _anything_?”

“No, I-”

“Leave it, alright?” John snapped. Sherlock flinched inwardly. John had never been this angry, not really. “Married to your work, emotions are dull, I get it.” Sherlock didn’t say a word. He simply stayed still, staring at John. Everything inside him hurt, and his newly discovered feelings were breaking through his self-composure. “I’m going, Sherlock. Remember to eat something.” Sherlock eye’s followed John as he threw on his jacket and grabbed his keys. He was gone before Sherlock’s mind started to work again. The silence was frighteningly uncomfortable, and the air felt oddly cold and uninviting - 221B suddenly did not feel like home. It was an odd realisation that Sherlock found himself dwelling on. Once John had left, he didn’t welcome in the flat. Was that a natural occurrence, one that normal people would usually feel? John had walked out of the flat many times, and Sherlock had never felt this _feeling_ before. A small voice in the back of his head whispered snide comments about _love_ and _sentiment_. Well, it was no lie that Sherlock found something like that whenever he looked at John, heard his voice or even knew they were in the same room. _Sweaty palms, accelerated heart rate, nervousness, dilated pupils_. It had taken less than five minutes to deduce that he was attracted to John, and almost 18 months to admit that it was something that could have been love. Still, even during all that time, Sherlock had not felt anything approaching this level of hurt and despair; it was confusing and infuriating and Sherlock definitely hated it. John made 221B seem like home, but he shouldn’t have. Sherlock had always been alone, it was what he was used to, what protected him in dark times; and yet now, anywhere he was - as long as John was with him - he’d feel at home. What was causing this? His attachment to John, such a plain man who had inconveniently come into his life at a convenient time, maybe... but surely not the sentiment. Perhaps it was boring now... no, that wasn’t the cause. Delete that. _Deleted_. What had made John leave? Was it Sherlock’s fault? Most probably. Delving into the section of his mind palace reserved for conversations with John, Sherlock relayed the argument...

_“Sherlock?” John’s voice was soft. “Sherlock, are you…?”_

_“Narcotics would do nothing for me now, John,” Sherlock said scornfully. “Besides, even if I looked I know I wouldn’t find anything in the near vicinity. I payed all of my usual suppliers off.” Sherlock’s fingers were shaking. The impact of his feelings was becoming so apparent that even Anderson couldn’t miss it._

_“Roll up your sleeves.” John’s doctor mode had been engaged. With an irritated sigh Sherlock pulled his suit sleeve up to reveal his alabaster skin, free of bloody needle pricks. Faint scars of past injections and from where things had gone horribly wrong decorated the flesh of his forearm and the veins of his elbow. John’s fingers ran over the old scars, pride in his eyes as he saw that there were no nicotine patches or fresh marks. Sherlock’s flesh burned and prickled wherever John finger’s touched him. With a sharp intake of breath, Sherlock pulled his arm away. John’s fingers hovered in the air before dropping back to his side._

_“I am fine, John,” Sherlock said softly. Even to his own ears, his voice was small and what could be described as scared or even childish. Possibly both. There was no point in telling John why he was shaking, or why he barely allowed their skin to touch. Sherlock raised his eyes to meet John’s and felt his throat constrict when he saw they were dark and cold._

_“I believe you.” His voice had grown hard. Sherlock could feel himself becoming even more confused. What had he done? Could this could result in the end of their friendship, all because Sherlock was (for want of better words) afraid of telling his best friend that he had somehow fallen in love with him? Sherlock didn’t want to think about it. “I’m going out.”_

_“What? Why?” “God, Sherlock, there are some things even you miss. Some things you do that actually hurt. Obviously after that last case, something changed. Even I can see that. Now you avoid me, I barely touch you and you pull away. Finally gotten bored of me, have you? Lasted what, 17 months? 18? You said two months ago I was your only friend. Was that a lie? Something you said to keep me around longer until you finally decided on a good way to get rid of me? You lie all the damn time, Sherlock, I’ve seen you do it. You’ve lied to me before, so why not do it over and over? You are insufferable. I’m the only person in this world who’s willing to put up with all your issues. I get it, Sherlock. You’ve never had friends, so why would you have one now?” The last few words were ice cold, filled with anger and frustration. Sherlock’s mind went blank and he couldn’t answer. John laughed bitterly. “You- I can’t believe you. You may be brilliant, but you are such an idiot.” Sherlock lingered over these words in his mind, realising that they stung far more than any of the copious wounds he’d dealt with over the years. Sherlock had lived his life receiving insults and they were never catalogued, always deleted. They usually passed by Sherlock unnoticed; but with John, they burnt. It was like an eternal blaze, and John’s words were the fuel to feed the flames. This wasn’t the burn of heroin or cocaine in his veins, this was a different type of toxin. This was a toxin found in every human, every day, all over the world. Toxic, yet harmless. Heartbreak._

Sherlock resurfaced from his mind, the sting of those words coming back to him once more. John, as humankind so often do, had finally found and attacked a crack in Sherlock’s armour. Sherlock had come into his fair share of icy comments and none of them had made any kind of impression on him - none except John’s, purely because the good doctor now held Sherlock’s heart in both hands. He reached for his phone and tapped on the most recent contact in his inbox (always the most recent) and typed.

_John, come home. – SH **Sent 11:01 pm**_

_John, don’t ignore me, it is extremely childish. – SH **Sent**_ **_11:14 pm_ **

_You’ve been gone 26 minutes too long. – SH **Sent 11:27 pm**_

_John, it’s past midnight. Come home. – SH **Sent 12:02 am**_

_I miss you. – SH **Message saved to drafts**_

_It’s too quiet here. And boring. 221B needs you. I need you. – SH **Message saved to drafts**_

_You are my only friend, John. Always. – SH **Message saved to drafts**_

_I love you. – SH **Message saved to drafts**_

_Please. – SH **Sent 2:03 am**_

*

“John, you should probably go home.” Sarah sat next to him, watching as the doctor shoved his phone back in his pocket. He sighed and rubbed his face with one hand.

“What’s the point?” John sighed, leaning back. “He doesn’t even hold me to any kind of high regard, nothing like the kind I hold him in. I was so convinced that he did.”

“That sounds very selfish of you, John,” Sarah frowned. John closed his eyes and sank further into the couch, and Sarah sighed. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.” Sarah held out her hand. John opened his eyes to glare at her, but grudgingly placed the device in her hand. Sarah sat back, her eyes darting over the screen. “Did you even bother to read these?”

“No.”

“You’ve been gone 26 minutes too long. – SH, John, it’s midnight. Come home. – SH. Please. – SH. If I’m not mistaken, John, that is Sherlock holding you to a pretty high regard,” Sarah pointed out. John shuddered and shook his head vehemently.

“He’s doing that manipulation thing he does. It won’t work this time.”

“John…” Sarah’s voice was soft as she handed the phone back. Her fingers wrapped around John’s wrist in nothing more than a friendly and comforting manner. “You need to go back, for your own sake. If you love him as much as you have told me you do-”

“Sarah, that’s just it,” John interrupted. “I love him. Sherlock Holmes, who is a), a man, and b), someone who has said on multiple occasions that he is incapable of feeling things the way others do. If I told him, then what? I’d get nothing out of it. I’d go back to dating women, and when we have sex, imagining it’s Sherlock? They’ll all fall apart, just like the others, and I’ll end up alone. Although perhaps that’s a good thing, because that’s what loving Sherlock Holmes is like. Being completely alone.”

“Just go home, John.” Sarah stood, and pulled John with her. “Go home and sort this out. For both your sakes. Hell, for _London’s_ sake.” John studied his friend’s face and nodded abruptly. “Fine,” John said.

“I’ll text you if I get kicked out, yeah?” Sarah nodded, but John noticed a certain triumphant twinkle in her eye. John hugged her and pulled the door shut behind him. Sarah shook her head slightly, smiling, and grabbed her phone. She scanned the contacts and pressed the one she needed.

“ _Mycroft Holmes_.”

“It’s Sarah. He’s going home now. Just... make sure nothing happens, okay?”

“ _Of course, Sarah. Thank you_.” The line disconnected and Sarah sighed again before heading to her bedroom.

*

Sherlock hadn’t left the lounge, apart from getting something to eat like John had told him to. He stood at the window, eyes closed as he played Zigeunerweisen, Op. 20 by Pablo Sarasate. The melody drifted through the air, amplified somehow by the silence of 221B. He had been playing almost constantly since John left, ranging from his own compositions to Bach to Shostakovich. He was concentrating on his violin more than the sounds of the street and the stairs, so when he felt another presence in the room the music stopped suddenly and he turned to face John. The doctor looked tired and frankly dishevelled.

“Of course, violin at 3 in the morning. I don’t know what I expected.” Even John’s voice was tired. “That piece... it was beautiful.” Sherlock said nothing, merely placed his violin on the table. “You only play pieces like that when something has upset you.”

“John,” Sherlock murmured, still struggling to believe he was back.“You’re home… Good. That’s, uh, quite... quite good.” John lifted a shoulder in reply and sank into the couch.

“You ate.” It was a statement, not a question, and Sherlock nodded his confirmation. “Good.” Hesitantly, Sherlock sat down next to him. Silence hung around the flatmates as both searched for something to say.

“John,” Sherlock said eventually, the way he always did. “I... I have something I have been meaning to say... for a rather long period of time. I value our friendship above everything in my life, and that includes my work. I have gained something from you I would have never expected; and though it frightens me in a way only I can understand, I have to thank you. And I need to tell you something I can only show with actions.” John turned to look at Sherlock, his heart hammering away in his chest, so loud the noise from the street was immediately drowned out. He watched Sherlock’s eyes flicker towards John’s lips, then back up... and before John had any time to react, Sherlock was kissing him. And John was kissing back. The kiss was hard and hungry, as if they had been apart for years instead of hours. Their bodies were pressed so close it felt like they were trying to become the one person. It was messy, but passionate, and Sherlock could almost feel the sexual frustration radiating from John’s body and oh it was beautiful. Eventually, the kiss ended. John looked fairly dazed, Sherlock’s chest was heaving, and the flat was silent apart from the sound of heavy breathing and the morning rain on the windows.

“You, uh... you kissed me,” John stated, his voice trembling slightly. Dread washed over Sherlock. _Well, this is it. I’ve gone too far and John will leave for good. I shouldn’t have displayed my feelings. This is why I’ve always told myself that love will only lead to loss._

“Yes.”

John cleared his throat. “Did you, uh... did you... like it?”

“Yes.”

“Um... well, so did I.” Sherlock’s heart stopped. He thought he had imagined every possible outcome of the situation, but he would never in a million years have expected that. Impossible.

“You—I—What?” John grinned a little and took Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock blinked, once, twice, three times before he focused on his flatmate.

“I liked it. A lot. Um, I... Hm. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now.” A blush spread over John’s cheeks, and he was grinning sheepishly. It was an expression Sherlock had never seen on him before, and quite frankly it took 10 years off him. “And... if you don’t mind... I would, uh, very much like to do it again.” Sherlock reached out and cupped his cheek, making no attempt to disguise his feelings.

“John, I... thank you.” Sherlock leaned in and kissed him again, softly this time. John let go of his hand and slid his fingertips along the inside of Sherlock’s arm, coming to rest on his shoulder. Sherlock moved one hand down to rest on John’s chest whilst pulling him close with the other, and John curled his fingers into Sherlock’s dark curls. The kiss gained more heat and Sherlock felt familiar chemicals rushing through his body and heat pooling in his groin. John moaned slightly as his tongue was granted access into Sherlock’s mouth, and then the hand that was grasping Sherlock’s forearm slid down his hand and over his hip and then...

“ _Oh_!” John swallowed Sherlock’s muffled gasp, smirking. Feeling a twitch from Sherlock’s penis, John started moving his hand up and down, rubbing it to full hardness. Sherlock groaned, and John’s fingers tightened in his hair. Gasping, they pulled apart, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with lust. John was still rubbing Sherlock, and he ground up into his hand and moaned. John stopped moving and Sherlock did it again, resting his forehead on John’s head and panting into his slightly damp hair.

“Are... are we going to do this…?” John whispered in Sherlock’s ear as he rolled his hips again. “Sherlock...”

“Yes... I’ve done it before... And— _Ah_! —Despite not having sex for.. A-At least a decade... I want it now...” Sherlock answered, his voice barely his own. John leaned down and kissed above Sherlock’s collar. Sherlock melted against him, panting harder now. “God, John...” he groaned as John unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt with one hand and pushed it from his shoulders. John continued his worship of Sherlock’s body, kissing his collarbones, his sternum, his ribs, his stomach, the tip of his hipbones, everywhere he could reach.

“You’re still too skinny, Sherlock…” John murmured against his abdomen. Sherlock huffed out a laugh. John stood up, kissed his neck and let his hand drop to his side once more. “Come on, bedroom.” Sherlock captured his lips in another kiss before grabbing John’s hand and pulling him into the bedroom. He left John at the doorway and lay on the bed, racing to strip himself as quickly as possible. His prick was strained against his stomach, the tip almost brushing his navel and the dark pink of the heated skin contrasting nicely with his alabaster complexion. He closed his eyes, then opened them again to see John leaning over him. The world went immediately still. In his hand was a tube of water-based lubricant and a blue condom packet, but that wasn’t the best part - John was completely naked, wearing only a smirk, his erection standing free for the world to see. Swollen and red, it looked undeniably large. Sherlock had to withhold a moan, gazing up at him open-mouthed. His confidence in this area wasn’t the strongest, so allowing John to see him like this, this open and vulnerable... it was a pretty big step. Unable to control himself any longer, Sherlock leaned up to kiss the doctor; there was a moment of red-hot stillness where everything seemed magnified, then tongue and teeth were clashing and John had to manoeuvre himself down to pull Sherlock on top of him. Sherlock rolled his hips and pressed their bodies together as John nipped and sucked at his exposed skin, then went still as he heard the pop of a lid. John stroked his lower back with one hand as if to reassure him. Sherlock closed his eyes and bowed his head, his forehead pressing close to the knotted scar on John’s shoulder. To think that if John had never been shot, Sherlock would have never met him. He most likely would’ve had gone back to cocaine, and wound up in another rehabilitation centre. His thoughts were cut short by a slick coolness being pressed against his opening. Sherlock instantly relaxed his body as John stroked the puckered skin, moaning into John’s shoulder as the tip of his index finger pressed in. Sherlock’s body shook a little, quickly getting accustomed to the initially strange sensation. He wanted this. God, it hurt him how much he wanted this. John kissed his neck and pushed his finger in knuckle deep - it went still for a second as Sherlock gave a sharp intake of breathe, then started thrusting slowly as he rolled his hips. Sherlock moaned again, his mouth hanging open. He wanted this to be easy for John, because it was their first time together and it was spontaneous; he wanted it to be special. John, however, didn’t seem to mind. Sherlock had to relax again so that a second finger could breach him. There was a twinge of discomfort and pain, and John stopped. “

I’m alright, I’m alright,” Sherlock breathed. “Just... _please_...” John nodded and pushed both fingers in. Sherlock shuddered a little and pressed his forehead into John’s shoulder.

“Sherlock...?” John murmured, and Sherlock answered by shaking his head and rutting his hips backwards. They both moaned in unison, and John took the hint and thrust in each time Sherlock jerked back. It was bliss, and Sherlock’s mind had completely shut down. There was nothing to observe, only to weakly catalogue and—

“Oh my God!” Sherlock’s hips stopped and John hummed in realisation, pressing his fingers to the same spot. Sherlock cried out, the information of prostate simulation overloading his brain and causing everything to short-circuit. Heat pooling in his lower abdomen, Sherlock gasped to John to pull out, that he was too close. John immediately did, reaching up to kiss him again. Pulling away with a smile, John slipped on the thin latex to cover his erection and spread more lubricant over himself. Sherlock moaned softly and rutted down into John, the head of his prick rubbing on John’s stomach. Once he was slick, John grabbed his hips and guided Sherlock down onto him. Again, they moaned in unison as the head of John’s prick pushed inside of Sherlock. John’s entire body tingled and he stared up at Sherlock’s open features, how soft he looked with his jaw slack and his pupils blown. This is how John always wanted to see Sherlock, humanised and all his. “John... it’s rude to stare...” Sherlock whispered when he got used to the sensation of John. John chuckled softly, which became a gasp when Sherlock sunk down halfway and he let John feel his muscles contract around him.

“Jesus…” John arched his back slightly at the same time as Sherlock went down and there was another united moan. They rested like that, Sherlock arched over and panting and John grasping his hips. Sherlock rolled his hips experimentally and his whole body throbbed with heat. He did it again, earning himself a guttural groan from John. Sherlock straightened his back and placed on hand on John’s chest, right above his heart, where he felt it pounding against his fingers. He was rolling his hips continuously now and John was arching his hips up to meet Sherlock, the sound of slapping skin and panting filling the small flat. Sherlock tipped his head back and cried out, causing John’s fingers to bite into his hips and thrust up. Sherlock’s eyes flickered down to focus on John and he could have cried. John was moaning his name, his neck was arched and he was breathing hard. He was beautiful, and finally he was Sherlock’s.

“Jo-John...!” Sherlock gasped as John hit his prostate and he felt his balls tighten. His hand left John’s chest and went to his erection, stroking it up, down, up, down. He moaned hard, the sound made by one close to orgasm. John knew this sound and matched it, his nails digging into Sherlock’s defined hips hard enough to draw blood. Pleasure tore through Sherlock and with a half moan, half sob of John’s name, he went over the edge. Ribbons of semen went across his hand and over John’s chest, coating their skin as they slid together. Panting, he went loose, and John quickly turned them over so Sherlock was on his back and John had better leverage. A few short, uneven thrusts and John came with a cry of Sherlock’s name, emptying himself into the condom. They lay like that for a moment, coming down from their post-coital high, before John pulled out and stripped the condom off. With a small smile, he walked out to throw the protection away and returned with a wet flannel. He lay next to Sherlock and wiped them both clean, kissing his cheek.

“You just confirmed it, you know,” John said after a few moments. Sherlock raised an eyebrow in question, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

“Confirmed what, my John?”

“That I love you,” John said, and suddenly the only thing Sherlock could hear was his pulse thumping in his ears. He stared at John with wide eyes. “That just proved it.” Sherlock opened his mouth, closed it, and let his head fall back on the pillow as emotion overwhelmed him. He felt his throat tightening and a heat behind his eyelids, then buried himself into John’s shoulder and let his body take over. He didn’t mean to cry, but he did - it wasn’t for very long, but his tears dripped onto John’s scar and down his chest. John, for his part, made soothing noises and rubbed Sherlock’s back slowly.

“John, I—Hm.” Once he had regained control of himself, Sherlock realised he had no idea what to say. He looked into John’s eyes, the deepest and most beautiful blue he had ever seen. He looked so perfect, there in that moment. “I… I love you too.”

“I know,” John whispered, kissing him again. Sherlock leaned into him and kissed him back slowly until John pulled away. “Sleep, love.” Sherlock let his eyes slide over John’s body and back up to meet his eyes, and John saw the child within him, and he smiled. “I’ll stay. I’ll always stay.”

“Good,” Sherlock replied, snuggling in close and closing his eyes. He fell asleep that night to the pounding of John’s heart, and did so for many nights after.


End file.
